


Beneath the Waves

by Siadea



Series: Across the Sea [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Khimil is Celebrimbor's reincarnation as raised in Numenor, LaCE compliant, M/M, Rape, Slavery, Tyelpe in Numenor, consent is for other people but not Khimil, discussion of child sexual abuse, distressingly appropriate torture metaphors, hurt/false comfort, mention of gore and cannibalism, soulbonds kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siadea/pseuds/Siadea
Summary: Side-story to Across the Sea. Consent in Númenor is ... fraught. Khimil knows this very well. In short: Tar-Mairon finally takes what is his.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Across the Sea [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/511162
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52
Collections: fear so intricate it’s indistinguishable from beauty; beauty so unbearable it’s indistinguishable from fear





	Beneath the Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: RaisingCaiin! Many many thanks! Yeah, this fic is from... 2016, maybe? It's been a while, we'll say.

Khimil has always known this day was coming. He sits in the perfumed bathwater and watches his hands trembling in front of him. He is old enough for it by any reckoning; it is generous of Tar-Mairon to have waited until now to bed him. It is kindness beyond measure that instead of taking Khimil before he understood why, thinking of Tar-Mairon only as his master, Tar-Mairon waited until Khimil's dreams began to torment him with thoughts from that other life, Celebrimbor's thoughts of marriage and union to the flame-eyed Maia of Eregion. Celebrimbor had been hot with the joy of discovery, the intoxication of Annatar's interest and attention, but even in the heated bath, Khimil is cold with fear.

"Go and bathe, darling," Tar-Mairon had said earlier that evening. "This should be special for us, and it cannot be special with forge-smoke and rabbit fur everywhere!" He had tapped Khimil's nose, laughing, and Khimil had smiled back the best he could. He isn't sure how much time he has; Tar-Mairon will not like it if he dawdles. Still, a morbid curiosity has Khimil reaching down behind himself, touching the hole there with a cautious fingertip. It doesn't seem like something a man's member should be able to enter. 

He tries very hard to avoid thinking about the gossip he had overheard from the maids. "Blood everywhere," they had told each other, "Ur-Zimran's guard had to carry the boy away afterward. Naked, still!" They had laughed, but nervously, and one had joked darkly that Ur-Zimran would have done better to bed a woman during her monthly sacrifice if he liked the blood so much. "Don't say that!" another had scolded. "Remember how Tar-Abarim got poor little Urgî pregnant? The boy will heal, but we lost Urgî to childbed. Let the masters have their boys!"

But the maids are long gone now, for this had been decades ago. Khimil had liked to pretend to sleep when they came, so they would be at ease and he could listen to their camaraderie without troubling anyone. He had learned a great deal from their chatter, things he could never have learned as Tar-Mairon’s most beloved slave. He wishes that they were still here, where he could perhaps overhear advice. He had listened for it before, of course, knowing what work Tar-Mairon would eventually put him to, but the matter has now come to the turning point.

Tar-Mairon is waiting. Khimil runs oiled fingers through his curls and puts on a robe that he knows complements his eyes. He doesn't bother with any other clothing, knowing that it will come off soon enough. He shudders hard, not quite knowing why, and almost slips on the marble tiles. Tar-Mairon will be upset if Khimil hurts himself through such foolishness! He has been scolded for it before. He pads into the bedroom on bare feet. Tar-Mairon is still dressed, but he smiles when he sees Khimil.

"Sweetheart, come sit," Tar-Mairon says, patting the bed next to him, and Khimil comes to him, leaning in close and tucking his head against Tar-Mairon's chest. He isn't a child anymore, he knows better, but Tar-Mairon strokes his hair as though he were. "What troubles you, pet?"

"Is it," Khimil starts, and swallows. "Is it going to hurt very much? It's only - I would like to be ready..."

"Oh, my little spark," Tar-Mairon sighs, and tips Khimil's chin up. But he's still smiling, as though they were sharing a joke. "Have I ever hurt you?" Khimil shakes his head, mute, and Tar-Mairon leans forward to kiss him deeply. It is the first kiss Khimil has ever had. He would not dare the impertinence of giving such a thing to anyone but Tar-Mairon, even if there had been anyone he thought of in such a fashion.

Khimil isn't sure what he is supposed to do as Tar-Mairon's tongue comes into his mouth, but he parts his lips for it obediently. Tar-Mairon's mouth is very hot, and slick, but it doesn't hurt, even when Tar-Mairon nips at his bottom lip. Something jolts in his belly, as though he were dreaming Celebrimbor's thoughts of Annatar again.

"There!" Tar-Mairon says after he pulls away, as though he's accomplished something important. "That wasn't so terrible, now, was it? Perhaps even a little nice?" he teases.

Khimil can feel himself blush, licking at Tar-Mairon's taste on his lips. "Tar-Mairon," he protests, "I am not a child, I know there is - I know there is more to it than - than that!"

"Kissing, sweetness, it's called kissing," Tar-Mairon laughs. "And of course there is more, but I promise that you will enjoy it very well indeed! I would never harm you, you know that."

"I know," Khimil says; he does know. "It's just that... I've heard rumors, about - bleeding, and..."

"Oh, rumors!" Tar-Mairon scoffs, and chucks Khimil under the chin. "Of course it hurts, if you don't care about whatever bit of meat you're using. The race of Men is _so_ prone to venality and lust, they really can't help it. I would never do that to _you._ You're much too precious to me."

Khimil is moved almost to tears; he throws his arms around Tar-Mairon and squeezes as hard as he can. Tar-Mairon is so kind to him, it shames him how afraid he was, and he says so. 

"Such a love you are," Tar-Mairon croons, stroking Khimil's neck and spine, pushing the robe down as he goes. "Silly creature, you must have been all to pieces over it."

"A little," Khimil confesses. "It's not, I would never try to deny you!" he adds hastily. "It's just that I didn't know..." Tar-Mairon's hands are very warm; the air of the room is cool on Khimil's damp skin.

"Ah, sweetness, you are so good to me," Tar-Mairon says, and kisses the top of Khimil's ear. Khimil shudders and clutches at Tar-Mairon's clothing; no wonder the touching of ears had been forbidden to courting elves! Celebrimbor had kissed before, but even the boldest suitor would never have dared touch a paramour's ear before marriage. 

But this is no elven land, this is Numenor, and it is not the master's place to please his slave. "I should," Khimil stammers, "I should - Tar-Mairon, what can I do? I should be bringing _you_ pleasure..."

Tar-Mairon kisses him silent, cupping the back of his head to hold him in place. "My dearest, I know that you mean well," he says, very amused. "But surely you can't have forgotten what I am after only a few kisses?"

Khimil stares at him, baffled - what is he? There are so many answers and Khimil can't think of which one Tar-Mairon wants.

"A Maia, my pet," Tar-Mairon says gently. "Not a Man, nor an elf. You know this body is only a convenience for me, and yet you fret as though I were driven by its needs like any flesh-bound animal! I do not do this from physical desire, precious, no matter how fair you are. I do this because I want _you._ All I need you to do right now is enjoy yourself. I mean it!" he adds, laughing, and Khimil wonders what his own expression must look like, to delight Tar-Mairon so. "I promise that you may work to please me as much as you like next time."

"Thank you, Tar-Mairon," Khimil says, relieved. He is right, of course - Tar-Mairon is no mortal creature, and if he does this it is for his own reasons, not those of a Man or elf. Therefore if he wants Khimil to - to only enjoy himself, and not to serve him, then he must have some unfathomable reason for it. "You are so generous to me! Surely no one has had a kinder master."

"Flatterer!" says Tar-Mairon, but he is smiling; he knows that Khimil would never lie to him. Tar-Mairon cannot be lied to. "Now, about these little ears of yours..."

Khimil squirms and gasps in Tar-Mairon's arms as his master kisses and licks and nibbles at Khimil's ear. There's an unbearable tension gathering in his belly, bringing heat to his cheeks. It is so much more intense than any of his dreams, even the ones where he woke, ashamed, with sticky sheets. Tar-Mairon's mouth is hot, his least breath bringing cool air to torment Khimil's senses. He strokes Khimil like a cat, long sweeps of one warm hand down Khimil's shoulder and chest.

Then Tar-Mairon reaches between Khimil's legs and touches him, strokes a single finger down his shaft. Khimil feels sick to his stomach, all at once, and scrabbles away on his back, kicking at the sheets. He only realizes that he struck Tar-Mairon when Tar-Mairon raises a hand to his face, frowning. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Khimil cries, humiliated and terrified, feeling burned, as though Tar-Mairon had peeled his skin away rather than only touching him, and gently at that. He thinks he might weep. "I didn't mean to!"

Tar-Mairon exhales deeply, smoothing his frown away. "Of course not, pet. Only silly reflex, I'm sure."

"I'm so sorry!" Khimil half-sobs, throwing himself forward to press his head and face to the mattress before Tar-Mairon, baring the nape of his neck. He's never, ever tried to hurt Tar-Mairon, he would never, he doesn't know what came over him, and he tells his master so.

Tar-Mairon puts his hand on Khimil's nape, the contact soft but unyielding as steel. Khimil trembles, and falls silent.

"I forgive you, darling," Tar-Mairon says gently. Khimil presses his face deeper into the sheets to dry his eyes, and Tar-Mairon strokes his back with one hand, leaving the other at Khimil's nape.

"I'm sure it won't happen again," Tar-Mairon continues, and slips his hand between Khimil's thighs again. Khimil cannot help his shuddering, but he holds still, riding out the nausea until it fades. Tar-Mairon only touches him, very gently, but Khimil feels each fingertip as a brand. It is nothing like Khimil's own tentative exploration earlier. 

"Very good," Tar-Mairon tells him, and Khimil feels himself relax all over. He's done well, and Tar-Mairon has forgiven him. "Come, let me see your face, darling," Tar-Mairon says, and allows Khimil to sit up again. "I shall want to watch every moment," he says warmly, and Khimil blushes. 

Tar-Mairon kisses him again, and touches Khimil's ears, and coaxes him to lie back against the pillows, petting him all the while. Khimil cannot help but be soothed, soothed and yet also stirred. He touches Khimil's shaft again, and this time it only feels like hot, building tension. Khimil squirms helplessly, and pushes himself up against Tar-Mairon's hand. 

"Yes," Tar-Mairon says, and his voice has deepened, softened with hunger. Tar-Mairon has wanted this for a very long time, Khimil realizes all at once, and Khimil does not know if he can be enough for him. 

"Of course you are enough, my dear," Tar-Mairon says. "Ah, if only you could see yourself as I do! You are the carbon in steel, you are the dust within a pearl. We will make such wonders, you and I!"

He feels like candlewax, warmed through and made liquid, ready to be poured into a new shape. Tar-Mairon is the sun, is a flame, dipping his fingers inside Khimil. It does not hurt at all.

"Tar-Mairon," Khimil pleads, gripping the sheets in both fists. He can't make himself stop moving, writhing like someone burning alive. "Tar-Mairon, please..." 

"Oh, my beloved, how good it is to hear you like this," Tar-Mairon purrs, and Khimil feels the words through his very fingertips. There is no part of him that does not yield to Tar-Mairon. 

" _Please,_ Tar-Mairon," Khimil tries again. He knows how a courtesan would ask, but that is of Men and Tar-Mairon dislikes vulgarity, and Khimil doesn't know how to ask for what has set him aflame. It isn't just physical need; Khimil's very spirit is molten, ready to be shaped by Tar-Mairon's will. 

Tar-Mairon knows everything, whether Khimil speaks aloud or not, and takes what is rightfully his.

Khimil is oil cast onto a pyre, and Tar-Mairon's spirit is the flames leaping higher. Khimil is fuel for a blazing star, but he is not consumed. He plunges into the inferno, unharmed.

*

Khimil does not wake alone, for all that Tar-Mairon is not there in the flesh. His spirit has been welded to Tar-Mairon’s, as he knew it would be after what they had done. It is not as frightening as he had thought it would be; not as overwhelming as he had imagined. He knows, upon waking, that Tar-Mairon wishes him to take all the time he likes to enjoy the day, and that Tar-Mairon is full of joy. He has wanted this for such a very long time. Khimil arises from the bed, dazed and wondering. There are colors in his private garden that he has never seen before; his rabbits seem to glow from within, and he can hear their hearts beating.

It is impossible not to be warmed by Tar-Mairon's satisfaction. Khimil suspects that he may never be cold again.


End file.
